Out in the forest yesterday, I found a good spot to make a sketch of the moss overhanging a small broken rock face. A study of light and dark, deep forest of cedar trees, light movement across the moss and rocks. Thoroughly engrossed in the work, suddenly I heard a sound and looked to see a large pink rock careen off the lip of the overhang and smack into the base of a nearby tree, just a few feet away from my perch. It was a pink rock, the same colour as the rock I was perched on, very different from the green and grey of the overhang. Where did it come from? No pink rocks anywhere, except for this new one and the one I was sitting on. Two pink rocks, clean of the centuries of debris on all the others. No gremlins in the cracks tossing them out at interlopers. Massive mountain above. Perhaps it was wise to not remain much longer, perhaps there were three.